


when the swollen moon is content (and the sun bleeds onto our bed)

by ur_the_puppy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 13daysofclexa, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Day 8: Vampires/Werewolves, F/F, One Shot, clextober18, dont @ me, yeah thats right ya girl wrote ANOTHER werewolf au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 07:39:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16404137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ur_the_puppy/pseuds/ur_the_puppy
Summary: A werewolf, a witch, and a half-demon walk into a bar.And they're not even the strangest ones there.





	when the swollen moon is content (and the sun bleeds onto our bed)

**Author's Note:**

> a one-shot for clextober18. i should be studying for exams but instead i wrote gay fanfiction, because it appears i pretty much have no self control whatsoever. inspired by the lovely manip below.

_art credits to:[dontcha-wanheda](https://dontcha-wanheda.tumblr.com/)_

 

She had thought she was alone.

Usually she was. The woods here only stretched for so long, and Clarke tended to keep to her unofficial territory in order to avoid unwanted confrontations. She wasn’t weak in any standard, certainly was something to give any sane person pause, but a fight usually drew attention and attention drew other supernaturals, possibly even _humans_ , and really it was just a potential violent clusterfuck of a mess.

So, she kept to her unofficial markings. She walked the woods that hung a little ways from her apartment block and she followed it out until the trees began to ease and she could easily drop and roll over the ground without worry of knocking into any. She kept to herself, only howled when she was sure deep in the forest and the urge was too overwhelming in her bones. The snow was cold under her paws, too, tonight, a layer of the white spread over her back and smothered in the ruff of her fur.

It was supposed to be any other night. Any other full moon spent alone but content running and leaping and stalking the occasional hunt—bent low in the grass, blond fur only barely visible, creeping slow and methodical while the unsuspecting deer’s head only snapped up from lazily grazing when it was far too late.

Clarke remained dead still, cautiously eyeing her apparent company.

The other werewolf remained still and eyed her as well.

She knew there were others of her kind in the city near her. She’d met a few, but none seemed keen of making friends and, as she’d hoped, they’d merely given a acknowledging nod and all wordlessly settled on the same agreement. The woods weren’t big enough to carve out harsh territory lines, so keep to your own, don’t start trouble, and there’d be nothing to think twice about.

This was not someone she knew though. The werewolf was around her size, its shoulders coming up to around the average human’s chest, dark brown umber fur following the line of its muzzle and eventually spreading out entirely over its back and tail. A lighter coat ran along the underbelly, around its teeth and down the front of its neck, more tawny than brown.

It seemed as surprised to run into someone else as her. Its ears flicked, head ducking and sniffing the air. Though surprised, it didn’t seem too aggressive over meeting her, so Clarke took a careful step forward and stretched out her neck, sniffing and trying to work out if she’d come across its scent before. She edged a little closer, and realised it must be female, and the werewolf for a moment seemed like she was going to bolt when she approached towards too and nudged her muzzle against Clarke’s own.

Clarke jumped back. She was quick to bare her teeth, though she refrained from growling, but the werewolf only retreated and bowed her head as if in apology. Clarke relaxed a little. No, the newcomer didn’t want a fight it looked like. Seemed more curious than anything. Her ease must have came across in her body language because the other werewolf straightened some and only hesitated a beat before approaching again.

She let her this time. The werewolf’s eyes were such a strange unending shade of green, the fur a little darker surrounding them as if in a mask of some sort. They ended up circling each other, though close enough Clarke could feel the werewolf’s heat leak into the cold trying to sneak into her bones, bumping up and nudging into each other in curious—and only slightly—wary gestures.

A loud piercing howl had both them both snapping their heads up. Clarke glanced at her, but she seemed just as lost. She looked out again to where the howl had come from. It was unexpectedly close. The werewolf seemed to think so too because suddenly she was retreating back.

She huffed at her though, shaking the snow off her fur only for more to trickle down from the sky and smother again. She shifted on her paws, inching backwards but constantly glancing back at her. Clarke was confused for only a moment before she caught on.

Follow. She wanted her to follow her.

Clarke didn’t move at first. The werewolf huffed again, impatient now, looking caught between just giving up and parting ways or coming forward and remaining with her. Clarke didn’t really know what to do either. Sure, she’d occasionally met in passing other lone werewolves when she’d be dragged out by the irrefutable call of the moon but never had one given her more than a cautious glance at best.

The other werewolf whined, low and soft.

And as if the full moon was not some celestial body but the living and breathing flesh of the wolf before her, Clarke found herself thoughtlessly trailing after the wake of the werewolf’s footprints in the snow.

-

Their walk was quick to evolve into a run.

They ran and ran and ran, and it was a rare and addicting adrenaline that flooded in her limbs as they bounded beside one another, seeming to fall in a unspoken race of sorts, where one would speed up just enough to lead ahead only to be overtaken by the other seconds later. Clarke found herself grinning with a wolf’s mouth, panting and tongue lolling out as the snow burst up beneath her paws and she leant close to nip the other werewolf’s heels when she neared enough.

Eventually the sounds of city were beginning to dance in the air again, and they both slowed at the same time until they fell from a sprint into a trot to a leisurely pad across the snow. She was still panting, feeling the cold air rush and pierce her lungs, but when she glanced over to her companion beside her she saw much the same and didn’t feel so embarrassed at being so winded.

The werewolf watched her oddly closely with eyes that seemed too green, but then suddenly she was falling and rolling onto her back. She tossed and turned in the snow, energetic enough that the white powder spat up in mist-like puffs and Clarke thought if she were human she would have laughed. She settled for watching on amused, stilling getting her breath back, but then the werewolf rolled onto her belly and stared up at her with her head on her paws.

Her fur was completely drenched in snow.

And she really had no idea whatever stranger she’d wandered into, but she found that it was absolutely unfair for someone to have eyes like _that_ be given the ability to give _literal_ puppy dog eyes. Clarke padded forward, and she was about to move around to lie next to her when the werewolf abruptly stood up and _shook_.

She yelped and jumped back but it was already too late, and she sneezed at the onslaught of snow where some had even somehow gotten in her nose. Her eyes snapped up to stare bewildered at her, but the werewolf’s mouth was open and her tongue was falling out in what was the closest imitation a wolf could do a human grin.

Clarke growled and exposed the red of her gums and when she chased after her the only sounds were the laughing of the stars and the crunch of the snow beneath their paws.

-

She didn’t get far. Clarke pounced the second she had enough distance and they ended up crashing into the ground. She had also severely miscalculated their angle though, focused only on getting close enough so she could launch and take her down, and it meant that while she _did_ succeed at slamming into her she had, quite impressively, managed to unintentionally angle it so that when they went tumbling to the ground they also went tumbling down a frosted hill.

In her defence, usually she actually did pay attention to her surroundings.

They went toppling down. Rolled and battered back and forth against the ground and Clarke actually found herself _grateful_ there was snow, even if it’d inevitably mean in the morning she’d have to walk home either freezing from where the frost covered her head or toe or leave her clothes a little damp as the snow melted and left a wet sheen on her skin.

By the time she finally made it to the bottom it was with a pained animal grunt and her body aching with the rough repeated slam of limbs. She stood up slowly, stumbling slightly and swaying, squeezing her eyes shut before shaking off the lingering snow and sticks and leaves from her fur. She briefly had to paw at her nose, huffing a little under her breath and feeling bitter enough she was half attempted to try and track down a wood nymph and have a go at the closest thing to mother nature.

She quickly shed the notion though. Once, she’d gotten into a brawl with something that had bark for skin and leaved branches for hair, and she was left limping and steadfastly avoiding trees for a good two weeks until her leg healed. There’d been something magic in its teeth and the wound had been reluctant to mend. It’d been a misunderstanding, mostly, but from then on she now always steered clear of that particular section of the woods.

Something nipped her side and she lurched backwards, but her head whipped around with ears pinned flat and snarling only to see it as the other werewolf. She looked equally as dishevelled and bitter at nature as she felt, and Clarke’s snarl faded as swiftly as the breeze that ruffled her fur.

But then she remembered just exactly _why_ she had jumped for her and sent them tumbling. The werewolf must have too, because suddenly she was tripping over her paws to retreat but she wasn’t quite quick enough time. This time when Clarke lunged for her the ground remained even and the werewolf was shoved onto her back below her. Clarke stood on top of her, growling deep and terrifying with her teeth just inches away from the werewolf’s nose.

The werewolf leant up and licked her snout.

Clarke blinked, confused, but when the werewolf did it again she didn’t stop her. She did give a tiny bite at her ear though, and somehow that seemed to prove revenge enough. The werewolf rolled out from under her and Clarke didn’t bother try to stop her. When she had pushed herself back up onto all fours she stood still and watched her for a moment, and despite the snow-covered fur and the fangs and the sharp claws peeking out from her paws, when she looked at her it was the intelligence of a human staring into her.  

It was difficult enough deciphering expressions on a person let alone an animal. But her hackles weren’t raised and her muzzle wasn’t bunched in a snarl, so she figured there was nothing to worry over. Clarke came forward and brushed against her side with her own, until they were standing next to each other and this time it was _her_ who was the one to nudge the werewolf’s muzzle and offer an oddly affectionate little lick.

The werewolf paced forward only a few metres before settling down by a tree that had been knocked down and lay long on its side. She seemed to take inspiration from it, giving a quick shake of fur before circling and dropping onto her stomach. Her jaw stretched with a yawn. Clarke glanced up at the clouded sky, though even without seeing it was she could feel the presence of the moon anyway, its pull easing just slightly as if in a relucent retreat.

They probably only had a few hours until dawn. Clarke only hesitated another second before she joined the werewolf, those green eyes lazily studying her as she padded up and slumped next to her. It might have been a little deliberate when she made it so they were pushed up right against each other and she was able to thieve some of the werewolf’s warmth. The werewolf seemed to realise her plan, because soon she was huffing and nipping her neck, yet she didn’t get up and move, and instead actually shuffled a little closer until they were almost tangled in one another.

When the werewolf threw her head up and howled, loud and aching and trembling right in Clarke’s bones, she without thinking added her own call into the sound, and their howls spiralled and spiralled high enough she was sure it snuck through the prison of the clouds and up into the embrace of the moon.

The werewolf laid her head back down on her paws and Clarke did the same, but her eyes didn’t close and she remained awake staring at the wolf beside her. At first the werewolf watched her too, but then the tiredness must have become too incessant at her heels and slowly those green eyes slid shut. Clarke watched her a few languid moments longer, until she fell prey to it too.

She fell asleep feeling the werewolf’s heat leak into her cold fur and soul.

-

In the morning, when the sun dragged itself from its sleep and sat itself fat on the horizon, Clarke wasn’t so surprised to find herself alone at waking. She grunted and pushed herself up so she was sitting, but with stupid human fingers and stupid furless skin her body and teeth trembled with the cold.

She glanced beside to where the werewolf had lain, and while the scent of her lingered the warmth and presence was long gone. Clarke sighed and didn’t really understand the heaviness that overtook her limbs, pulling herself up to two feet too slow and with more effort than it should have took. She stretched and felt the pleasant cracking down her spine.

She wasn’t quite sure where she was, but she could probably find her way back without too much trouble. She was meant to meet Raven and Octavia for brunch today she was pretty sure, as they were planning to go to a bar tonight for the more supernatural celebration Halloween. Worst case she got lost and was late. Raven would use whatever tracking magic she did to find her.

She sighed, glancing at the sun and heading in what she was pretty sure was north.

Her heart somehow felt swollen in both ache and content, but Clarke didn’t let herself dwell when she actually managed to find her way back, miraculously, discovering her backpack with her clothes next to a boulder big enough it came up to her head. She had to shake the snow off the bag but morning sun had already started melting the white, and Clarke scowled when she opened to find her clothes a little damp from where the moisture had leaked through.

She was only a bit late to the brunch. Raven glared at her when she sat down and she was only saved from a lecture—and no doubt a slew of insults—by Octavia’s saving grace. “It was full moon last night, cut her slack,” she’d said, and it seemed enough of a get out of jail card to placate. Raven still muttered about how _of course_ hellspawn would side with _her_ , shooting one last glare at Clarke and warning that she would place a curse on her that’d make any mortal fear for their soul. But Clarke only grinned knowing damn well knowing Raven wouldn’t, solely because spells like that were far too much effort and time to waste.

They talked and caught up and it was a familiar sort of calm that settled over her.

Clarke didn’t mention the werewolf. It felt strangely personal.

-

The Ark was the type of bar only found when it needed to be.

You had to follow the signs. The door to it moved constantly and never remained in the same place for more than a couple of nights at most. It seemed to be a living thing of its own, one that had a taste of freedom and recoiled at being restrained. It meant the mundane humans never found it, but for the supernaturals it was a beacon of sanctuary.

It hovered just out of the corner of the eye. Almost like a shimmer, a rippling flash of light too nervous ever sit still in a full gaze. Pockets of sound from activity with seemingly no source no matter where you looked. And for some like Clarke it was the unmistakable scent of magic in the air, a scent impossible to pinpoint but so distinct it was instantly recognisable. It wasn’t quite like the moon in its allure, but something of a sibling, it beckoned and it teased and if you followed it right, sure enough you’d find that fugitive door wherever it had decided to settle for that particular evening.

It wasn’t snowing tonight. The air still held a small bit of the lingering cold and she had to aim her steps carefully at points, but the sky unlike yesterday was clear of clouds as if they’d all just up and left for better prospects. The moon still swelled in the sky and when she glanced up she always stared for a few too many moments too long, but she wasn’t worried and only let out a wistful sigh before tearing her eyes away.

Apparently she had been focusing a little too close though, and she ended up bumping into Raven from where she walked next to her. Immediately she was overcome with a flash of heat and she lurched back more in shock than anything, not prepared in any way for what felt like the entire force of the fucking sun had snuck out and taken residence upon Raven’s shoulder.

“Jesus _fuck_ Raven, give a little warning next time,” Clarke hissed, but Raven only rolled her eyes.

“ _You_ walked into _me_ , the hell have I done wrong?”

Clarke shot her a look and ignored how Octavia was very obviously trying to bite back her laugh. “You’re meant to let us know when you’re doing that bubble shit and you know it—”

“ _Bubble shit_ ?” Raven repeated, staring at her with wide eyes, looking truly insulted. “Do you even know the skill it takes to only make the air particles around _me_ alone vibrate fast enough to create warmth but not fuck up everything else? Of course you don’t know, and of course you’d never _respect_ it because you’re too busy humping fire hydrants—”

Clarke shoved her and the only reason she didn’t hit the pavement was Octavia catching Raven’s arm. “You’re such a piece of shit, you know that? And it’s not even _that_ cold Rae, for fuck’s sake. Octavia’s wearing a tank top.”

Raven scoffed, shrugging her arm out of Octavia’s grip. She adjusted her jacket and threw a glare at her, though Clarke could only stare at it wondering how the hell she wasn’t overheating. Even if the red jacket was relatively light. She was convinced Raven could freeze in the Sahara. “O always wears a tank, she does _not_ count,” Raven retorted, ignoring Octavia’s indignant protest. “She’s literally hellspawn. Girl’s got like fire and brimstone in her blood.”

“Will you quit calling me that?” Octavia snapped, but Raven only smirked and even Clarke felt a few tendrils of pity for her. There was absolutely no way she would stop simply because it pissed Octavia off every time. Clarke would know, of course, the variation of dog-related nicknames she’d accumulated over the years was… actually a little impressive. She thought Raven would have run out by now.

Raven’s smirk only widened. “It’s a statement of fact though.”

Octavia’s glare was so burning there was a moment where Clarke thought she saw her eyes flash red. “ _Half_ Raven. Half. Solely calling me hellspawn is like calling Clarke a dog.”

This time it was Clarke’s offended protests that got ignored.

“But… I _do_ call Clarke a dog.” Raven said, affecting a look of such convincible confusion Clarke actually didn’t know if it was genuine or not.

By some miracle, it was then that Clarke caught the distinctive scent of magic and she stopped walking. Raven and Octavia soon did too, looking puzzled at her, but Clarke strained her hearing and caught the snatches of laughing and chatting and clinking glasses and felt relief wash over her.

“Got it,” she muttered, and Raven heaved a dramatic sigh.

“Oh thank _fuck_ , I was meant to be drunk like half an hour ago. I’ve been stuck making conversation with idiots to pass the time.”

Octavia frowned. “You were talking with us.”

“Exactly.”

Clarke pushed Octavia forward before she could lunge at Raven.

-

Unlike the usual relatively low din of noise of The Ark, they walked in to find encouraging shouts and yells and the general aggressive, swept up cheers of what you’d expect at a fighting match. Once they’d passed the bouncer, all muttering to each other again for probably the hundredth time about speculation of just _what_ he was—he didn’t really look like anything, and yet he seemed to be able to identify supernaturals exactly with just one look—their most popular theory being he must be a seer of some type, but the problem was; he didn’t smell like anything magic.

It wasn’t quite a fighting match Clarke discovered. After they all shared a frown and Clarke managed to push a path through a crowd forming a circle of sorts near the back of the bar, she shoved to the front to find the cause being a woman and what she was pretty sure a half-orc locked in an arm wrestling match.

It was difficult with so many scents to sift through from the inhabitants of the bar, but she caught a whiff of something familiar and realised the woman must be a werewolf. She had on a leather jacket and brunette hair tied in a beautifully complex set of braids and her arm was defined enough with tightly packed muscle that spoke of years of training.

She and the half-orc with sickly pale green skin and mean looking tusks peeking out from its bottom lip seemed to be ignoring their audience entirely, and were only focused solely on each other. Their arms were shaking violently and their grip on their hands was so tight they must have been cutting off the circulation in one another.

“Fifty on the werewolf!” a man shouted right by Clarke’s ear, followed by another shout from a grizzly looking goblin who glared at him before yelling too.

“Thrash the fifthly mongrel, Torug, break her arm!” he hollered, voice scratchy and brittle but when he glanced over to smirk he was instead met with Clarke’s snarl, fangs bared, and he flinched, backing off a few steps.

The woman might be a stranger, but she was her kind and Clarke figured it was her obligation to be offended on her behalf.

Clarke only lingered a few moments longer before shaking her head and pulling back. She had to push her way through the bodies until she was free of the throng again. Octavia was close behind her, but when they glanced at each other and realised Raven was somehow not with them, Octavia sighed and went back in.

Octavia came stumbling out a minute later lugging Raven by the arm.

“What the hell O, I was _watching_ that,” she hissed, evidently pissed at being denied the free show.

Octavia only glanced at Clarke. Of course she’d pass off the duty to her. “Rae,” Clarke sighed, raising a hand and hoping Raven wouldn’t kill her in her sleep. “While I don’t doubt you can take care of yourself, that is a lot of people and a _very_ high chance of a fight. And you aren’t exactly… a brawler.”

That didn’t seem like too much of an opening for evisceration. Raven frowned, clearly thinking it over and whether it’d be worth or not to summon spiders to crawl incessantly over Clarke’s skin and stroll right back into the fray. It was a long, dangerous minute, but eventually Raven rolled her eyes and waved a hand.

“Whatever,” she muttered, but without any heat. “Alright. I’m getting a drink then. You’re paying for it though Griffin.”

Clarke hadn’t even been able to open her mouth in response before Raven was gone.

It was better than the spider thing. She’d done that once when she had told her that there was no way she was letting her drive when she had broken her leg a few years back. Raven had been convinced her first time healing spell had worked fine, but Clarke was cautious and reluctant.

That one experience of feeling thousands of tiny sharp legs crawling over her was almost as genuinely horrifying and traumatising as the first time she’d ever turned.

Clarke shuddered involuntarily.

Thank god she didn’t do the spiders.

-

It was only a little later when they were sitting on stools by a high table laughing with each other that there was a loud _slam_ and then the deafening uproar of cheers and groans. Clarke’s eyes instantly snapped over to the crowd, and she waited an anxious beat watching the audience closely to see if any ensuing violence was to follow from whoever had won, but there was only the shake of heads and triumphant laughter. Half of them scowled and bared fangs or claws if they had them as they slapped the appropriate dollars into victorious hands.

The crowd disbanded and went on to do whatever fancied them, and Clarke’s shoulders finally slacked as the tension bled out of her in a slow exhale. She looked back to see Octavia checking her phone and playing with a spark of flame between her fingers. Raven kept murmuring something unintelligible under breath, and soon after she’d flick her hand and the flame would disappear like all the oxygen had been sucked out _just_ from that particular spot. When it happened for the third time Octavia looked up with a glare.

“Could you quit that, asshole?”

“Who are texting?” Raven asked, seeming to ignore Octavia’s frustration entirely. Which, really, wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence.

Octavia laughed something bitter under her breath and shook her head. “None of your business.”

Raven frowned. “Tell me.”

“Nope.”

“Octavia.” At getting no response, Octavia now just ignoring Raven entirely and back to texting on her phone, Raven pouted and shuffled closer on her stool. “O. Hey. Tavia. Tavi. O-Dog. Hell-spawn-adjacent-being.”

That at least got her attention, but just as she glanced up to no doubt snap at her, a man, clearly drunk and swaying on his feet, came up and threw his arms over both Octavia’s and Raven’s shoulders.

“Now what’s a fine pair’a ladies like you sittin’ so lonely for?” he slurred, grinning far too smug and satisfied. Clarke would have ripped him off with her bare fists but Raven raised a hand without looking at her. Clarke frowned, but sat back down, though it gave her a bit of ease when she glanced across from Raven to see Octavia looking about one breath away from tearing him apart right there.

“Come here,” Raven said, and man blinked like he hadn’t expected to get this far, but soon his smirk was widening and eagerly did so.

When he was close enough Raven just touched his throat once with her finger.

The reaction was instant and reeled back like he’d been burned. Maybe he had. Clarke sort of had no idea what she’d done, but whatever she had it was very clearly something _painful_ because he immediately collapsed to the floor heaving and coughing and uselessly clutching at his neck as he seemingly choked on nothing. Clarke just watched with a raised brow, and Raven let it go on for another few probably-extremely-agonising seconds for him before speaking again.

“Would you like to apologise?”

There were tears in his eyes and he was gasping and sputtering with his face becoming progressively redder. He nodded desperately, unable to speak, and soon after Raven gave a lazy wave and he _gasped_ as he fell forward, panting and struggling to regain his breath.

When he finally regained himself, he glanced up and his face twisted into a snarl, so very clear he was about to do the very opposite of an apology. But then Raven narrowed her eyes, her hand rising again and his own eyes bulged and he scrambled back up onto his feet.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—” he kept chanting it, rushing the words out and fleeing as fast as he could. He managed to run right into someone in his attempted escape, but he only stumbled away from the woman he’d collided into and bolted for the door anyway on unbalanced feet. The woman watched the man run off with a disdain curl of her lip. Clarke couldn’t help but silently agree.

“Impressive,” the woman muttered to Raven, and unlike him she did not make the mistake of so clearly invading personal space.

Raven perked up in her seat, a slow grin spreading on her lips, and Clarke glanced between the woman with a jaw sharp enough to cut steel and dark roots that bled into blond hair with caution. Because what caught most of her attention was the fact that she held no heartbeat and there was the distinct scent of death that lingered around her, a subtle type of lethal ancient power that hid under her skin. Her eyes almost looked like they were blood red.

Vampire.

Raven scoffed. “That’s a party trick at best.”

It only seemed to amuse her more. “Oh, so what can you do then?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Clarke blinked, unsure if she really was witnessing such obvious flirting. She glanced over at Octavia from behind Raven’s back and she looked equally as bewildered as her. Before anymore could be said though, that werewolf who’d been arm wrestling before suddenly came striding up right to the vampire and threw a wad of cash at her that she, somehow, managed to catch in one hand.

The vampire glanced at the money and then to the werewolf with a slow creeping smile. “I take it you won, then?”

The werewolf glared at her. “Obviously. Did you seriously have to provoke him like that, Anya?”

Anya’s smile widened enough to reveal lethal looking fangs. “Obviously.”

The werewolf thinned her lips and seemed to just give up entirely. She looked over to them and Clarke froze, even as she was pretty sure Anya was talking again and she thought that maybe she was introducing herself or something and Raven was answering and—

Fuck. _Fuck_ . Those eyes. She knew them. She _knew_ them with an intimacy she absolutely should not know them for.

And the werewolf— _that same fucking werewolf_ —froze too, those unmistakable green eyes as she stared and her jaw dropped and clearly came to the same conclusion as Clarke. She was the one she’d met last night. The one who she had chased and slept by with the swollen moon quiet and content above them. The same wolf. And, to make matters even worse because apparently god hated her, she was unfairly attractive.

 _Way_ too fucking attractive.

Fuck.

Someone swatted her shoulder. She jolted and that was just embarrassing in itself, ripping her gaze off those damn green eyes and instead settling on Raven, who was watching her with both confusion and amusement. She also looked expectant, and when she glanced at Octavia she saw the same expression.

“Introduce yourself Cujo.” Raven eventually said, seeming to finally take mercy on her. Clarke sort of wanted to die but maybe that was being dramatic.

“Uh, Clarke,” she introduced, quite gracefully, and honestly she wondered just what deity she had pissed off. Either that or she had been something of a devil in a past life and karma was only now catching up to her. The efficiency of bureaucracy, and all that.

The werewolf cleared her throat. “Lexa Woods. I apologise for starting a scene before, Anya seems to have special gift for making my life as difficult as possible.”

How was a _voice_ that attractive?

Multiple gods hated her, Clarke decided. That seemed the only logical explanation. An entire pantheon of them who had all sat down and asked themselves just what would be the best way to fuck her over. Repeatedly.

Anya only smirked, looking completely unrepentant. “Well, Raven was it? To what extent does your magical ability lie, then?”

Raven winked. “Buy me a drink and maybe I’ll show you.”

Anya actually laughed, light but seemingly either impressed or amused by her boldness. Clarke could still see her fangs peeking out from her lip, but when she nodded Raven’s grin widened and she slid off her stool to follow after her. She briefly spun around as she walked backwards, mouthing _don’t wait up_ before disappearing with Anya tow.

She wasn’t quite sure if it was the best idea letting Raven go off with a vampire _alone_ , but she seemed to be friends with the werewolf—no, Lexa, her name was Lexa—so that had to mean something, right?

Lexa’s gaze turned to meet hers again and it was surreal seeing it with no fur and teeth accompanying near. It was the exact same, though. She’d know, she had stared at it long enough she could probably paint it with her eyes closed if she wanted. It took a moment, but Clarke realised that Lexa’s eyes were flicking over her too and they lingered for just a fraction too long on her chest and—

Well. At least it was nice to know it wasn’t so one-sided.

Octavia cleared her throat, and Clarke was only mildly mortified to realise she’d forgotten she was there. “So, Lincoln _finally_ texted back and is here so, uh, unfortunately I’ll be leaving you Griff.” She offered her an only slightly apologetic smile and got to her feet.

“O,” Clarke whispered, very much just refraining from hissing because she could _not_ be left alone with a woman _that_ attractive who she had maybe spent the night with previously under the assumption they would never meet again, because it was full moon and she only rarely ran into others of her kind and _Octavia could not leave her alone right now_.

Octavia looked at the panic on her face, grinned, offered a wave and a polite goodbye to Lexa before she, like Raven, disappeared off too.

They would be having a very long talk about wingwoman duties soon.

“And… I’ve been abandoned.” Clarke sighed. Of course. What wonderful friends she had.

“You’re the one, aren’t you?” Lexa asked, her voice strangely soft. “The wolf from last night.”

Clarke laughed a little, not sure if she should feel surprised or not that Lexa was apparently just going to cut right to the chase. “I might be,” she answered, and when Lexa narrowed her eyes Clarke’s lips tugged into a grin.

Eventually she just shook her head, but Clarke could see the hint of a smile trying to break out too. She only hesitated a moment before she came and sat down next to her, and Clarke thought that just a little unfair on her sanity. Their arms were nearly brushing, and she could smell her perfume, and her warmth, and really it was just making it incredibly goddamn difficult to think coherently.

At least with a wolf’s mouth you didn’t actually have to speak.

“So,” Clarke started, throwing a glance over her shoulder of where Raven and Any had gone off too. “How does a werewolf end up friends with a vampire?”

Lexa rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Those wars ended centuries ago.”

“I’d wager vampires are good at grudges.” Lexa looked like she was trying bite back at her smile, doing her best to shoot her an unamused look but she failed terribly. “Come on, I stumbled upon a vampire once and it was only dawn that saved me from a fight. How the hell did you manage to _befriend_ one?”

Lexa relented with a sigh, but she was still smiling and when Clarke nudged her arm with her own it only grew a little more. She wasn’t quite sure why it made her heart beat a little faster. “Anya… is hard-pressed to actually care about something. She thought the wars were pointless and a stupid waste of time. I met her when I was kid. I’ve been stuck with her since.”

Even if her face had twisted into a scowl, there was an unmistakable hint of fondness to her voice. Clarke softened. “I can understand that.” She said, quiet and probably a little too knowing. But Lexa relaxed slightly too, and she looked at her like she had when they’d be lying in the snow watching each other as they fell asleep. It made her both want to retreat and shuffle closer. It seemed more real when they didn’t have animals to behind.

“I haven’t met another of my kind in a long time.” Lexa muttered, her voice quiet and soft enough there was a flutter in Clarke’s chest and it felt like the entire universe had folded in to only them.

“Well,” Clarke drawled, and she echoed the tone, leaning in and watching as Lexa’s eyes flicked to her lips and up again. “I think you hang around vampires too much.”

Lexa didn’t resist the smile this time. It spread into a full grin and Clarke lost her breath at the sight of it. “Maybe I do.” Her eyes jumped up and down again, but then she was leaning back and away and Clarke was simultaneously relieved to regain her breath and contemplating whether oxygen was even so essential.

There were entire marine species that made it just fine without, right?

“Your witch friend seems powerful,” Lexa said, and Clarke had to blink a few times to wrench her mind back.

Clarke laughed. “She tried to turn me into a cat once.” It was Lexa who now blinked at her, and Clarke rolled her eyes before continuing. “She just wanted to do it for irony and to piss me off.”

Lexa smiled, clearly amused but trying to hide it for Clarke’s sake. “And did she succeed?”

Clarke immediately scoffed. “If she had she wouldn’t be alive right now. No, it didn’t work. Just felt a burn of something in my chest but nothing else. She was pretty pissed actually, but when she went asking other witches who’d tried it they had the same outcome.”

“Is she in a coven?” Lexa asked, sounding genuinely interested and Clarke nodded.

“Yeah, they have a groupchat,” she replied absently, even as Lexa’s brow rose. “Said it didn’t work because she was trying to shapeshift a shapeshifter. It cancels out. Of course, Raven is utterly convinced she’s going to be able to find a loophole.”

“Do you think she’ll succeed?”

Clarke actually paused at that. She thought it over, then looked to Lexa seriously. “If a cat comes up to you and bites your left ankle twice, that’s me.”

Lexa laughed at that, seeming as surprised as Clarke at the sound. She shook her head and glanced at her in _that_ way again and Clarke thought it insane just how badly she could want a stranger after only just meeting. But there was something almost knowing in her heart, so Clarke only grinned, allowed herself to feel proud for accomplishing the reaction and engraving the memory of it right into her bones.

They ended up talking for a long while. Clarke got lost in it and it was both strange and comforting to find such ease in their conversation. Lexa told her about how she was new here and just how infuriating it was having an almost sadistic vampire as a best friend considering her imperative to, as Lexa had quoted previously, make her life as difficult as possible. Clarke told her of Raven and Octavia and how she definitely wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon the time Lexa had drenched her in snow.

They were a few drinks in now, either subconsciously or not inching a little closer to each other as the night wore on and getting more brazen in grazing touches. When Clarke spent a good second or two trying to flick that one piece of hair that kept falling free Lexa reached out and gently tucked it behind her ear. Her hand was almost burning on her skin but Clarke was helpless to lean into it, Lexa’s fingers trailing down from her jaw to neck and then to pull away.

But she paused. Lexa’s brow creased, and her finger came back up and Clarke knew exactly what she had found before she felt press of something carefully trailing the scar. It was three really, close and running from just under her chin and down her neck, finishing at her collarbone. Lexa hadn’t yet retracted her hand back but there was something heavy in her gut and Clarke pulled away.

“I was young.” Clarke muttered, because it was obvious what the claw marks were and Lexa wasn’t stupid enough to miss it. She averted gaze and took a sip from her glass that was more a swig. “I don’t remember it.”

Lexa didn’t say anything. The silence felt too knowing and painful and when she finally gathered the courage to glance up, Lexa was just staring at her with an unreadable expression. Clarke swallowed hard, and Lexa let the quiet stretch on another heavy beat before she spoke up.

“I think you do,” she said, her voice softer than Clarke had ever heard.

But something hot burned in her chest and Clarke scoffed bitterly. “Oh yeah? And what would you know?”

Lexa didn’t react to the sudden hostility like she expected. She only paused, then glanced around her in a search of something Clarke didn’t know before bringing her gaze back, and she held her eyes as she shed her leather jacket off and revealed her arm. Clarke’s first reaction was to focus on the tattoo that branded her skin, but when Clarke frowned Lexa rotated her arm until she was wrist face up—and along her forearm, just up from her elbow, were silvery tooth marks that Clarke recognised all too well.

Clarke almost felt a phantom ache from the scars on her neck and bite on her shoulder, and similar to Lexa she reached out her hand and gently traced the ridges in her skin that would never heal. She glanced up and found Lexa just watching her.

“I don’t remember it either.”

She said it like Clarke had, in the way that meant the complete opposite.

There were some people you could know your entire life and feel like you never understand, and there were those you met once and felt like you had known your entire life. Clarke felt her heart swell and ache and bleed, and not even in any bad way, it was the first gasp after nearly drowning and the first step into the doorway after being homesick for months.

“You do though.” Clarke whispered, a slow acceptance, and Lexa nodded.

“I do.” She answered, equally as soft.

Clarke swallowed and it hurt. “Do you want better?”

She frowned a little at that. “Better?” she echoed, like she’d never heard the word before.

Clarke shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t… I wasn’t human for long really. Just enough years to remember what it was like. And I’ve met… the people I’ve met, the things I’ve learnt and seen it’s… I know I should be grateful.” She forced in a steadying breath. Her brow furrowed. “The idea of living in ignorance of everything, of all _this_ is… I can’t even really imagine that.”

“But there are moments where I doubt whether this is worth what was lost.” Clarke continued. She wasn’t looking at Lexa anymore, her gaze sliding off to side but not truly focusing on anything. “Sometimes I just want better. I don’t even know what that is. Is it even fair to want something like that? I mean, we… we deserve that, don’t we?”

She met Lexa’s eyes again, watched as they flickered between her lips and the blue and her throat bobbed with the weight of her swallow. “Maybe we do.” She answered, and it came out more a struggling breath than clear words.

“Yeah.” Clarke’s smile was small. “Maybe.”

-

It wasn’t even five minutes later that Clarke was being pushed up into a wall with Lexa kissing her hard enough she forgot the whole breathing thing again. But when the choice was between providing oxygen for stressed lungs and savouring and drowning in the feeling of Lexa’s lips sliding against her own, well, it wasn’t exactly a choice, was it?

It’d be a wonderful way to go anyway. She’d had a good enough life.

Lexa seemed to value oxygen a little more than her because she broke the kiss panting. Clarke was trailing after her anyway, because she was pretty sure that nothing short of god’s own wrath could be enough to make her pull her away—and even then, she would still hesitate and wonder if being struck by lightning was all that bad.

Apparently Lexa wasn’t as resilient as she thought because she didn’t stop her when Clarke’s lips chased after her anyway and connected again. She pressed into her, solid and warm and Clarke felt the heat leak into her cold bones and soul until it was like liquid fire in her blood. She tangled her fist into Lexa’s shirt and pulled her in and somehow flushed even _more_ with heat when her knuckle grazed a surprisingly hard stomach. She was quite sure if she saw Lexa naked she’d die.

Lexa pulled back again, and this time Clarke took the opportunity to regain at least _some_ of her breath back.

“Run with me again,” Lexa panted against her lips, but Clarke’s head was still spinning too fast with either oxygen deprivation or the drug-like sensation of Lexa kissing her and it took her a while to process the request.

When she did she blinked her eyes open, trying very hard to remember how to speak. “What?” she breathed, her exceedingly intelligent response making Lexa laugh. Clarke wanted to kiss her again to taste the sound.

“Someone once said I hang around with vampires too much,” Lexa grinned, and Clarke tried— _again_ —to remember English but Lexa’s pupils were blown but bright and radiating such an addicting happiness she couldn’t speak a damn word.

It tugged at something in her soul. And when she nodded and Lexa seemed to brighten more, she slid her hand around Clarke’s neck, and kissed her so hard Clarke tasted some of that bliss slip in on her tongue, down her throat and settle under her ribs.

Maybe Octavia hadn’t been the worst wingwoman after all.

-

The woods weren’t too far off.

Then again, the speed at which they ran was probably the main cause of that fact. Lexa followed her, trusting her lead, and she tried to take the most inconspicuous route to avoid any suspicion. Of course, she could still feel the ghost feeling of Lexa’s lips on hers and she really couldn’t be blamed if she took a few wrong turns on accident and almost collided with innocent bystanders more than once.

She wasn’t quite sure on what exact time it was, but it must have been just past midnight because she heard the burst of cheers and whoops that echoed from an apartment near, the lights on in the window and Halloween decorations dressed along the glass. Despite her lack of mind she still caught the glimpses of some teenagers and adults dressed up in varying degrees of genuinely impressive Halloween outfits. They even passed someone dressed in a werewolf costume and both her and Lexa slowed instinctually, sharing a grin and calling out approval to the stranger. The boy jolted but soon smiled wide as they ran past, and he waved a big paw while yelling a delighted thanks back.

Clarke gradually pulled herself to a stop as they found the edges of the woods. Lexa came up to walk next to her, their arms brushing against each other. She was almost about to throw it to hell and grab her hand, tug her into the beckoning trees, but the smell of booze and humans hit her and she glanced ahead to see a group of three or four teenagers stumbling down the pavement.

She thought they would pay her and Lexa no mind and she’d just let them stagger past but one of them, dressed as a vampire with fake blood coming down the corners of her mouth and powdered white skin, perked up at seeing them.

“Hey!” the girl called out, immediately getting a reprimanding _shut up!_ from her friends that she easily ignored. “You don’t have a costume, it’s Halloween!”

She shouted the last word, enough so her poor friend next to her winced and snapped at her to be quiet again.

“Yeah I do,” Clarke called back, ignoring when Lexa shot her an alarmed glance. Clarke only rolled her eyes and approached the group. When she got close enough she felt her teeth ache with the shift and bared sharp canines at her, adding a growl for good measure, but the clearly drunk girl just lit up and gasped.

“Where’d you get those! They look so real,” she breathed, staring at her with wide eyes.

Clarke only grinned. “They’re mine.” She said simply.

The girl still looked curious and confused but then her friend was grabbing her arm and pulling her forward, shooting Clarke an apologetic look and mouthing _sorry about her_. Clarke just waved a hand and waited standing there, watching the group keep walking on until they crossed the road and disappeared around a corner.

Lexa came up to her and pinched her side. Clarke yelped and then promptly glared at her. “Really Clarke?” Lexa sighed, but she was still smiling and it really detracted from the effectiveness of the reprimand.

“What? No harm no foul, right?”

Lexa shook her fondly and pushed her forward. “Impossible,” she muttered under her breath, but it only made Clarke grin wider.

They ran deep into the woods and only undressed when they were sure the chances of running into humans was next to one. She threw off her jacket and pulled her shirt over her head, immediately shivering at the flush of cold, but then Lexa was moving past her doing the same and even with no light but the moon singing above them she was breathtaking.

“Come on,” Lexa enticed, grinning, and she stripped until she wore nothing and Clarke thought that she died for a whole second.

But she crawled up from her grave grinning too, and when Lexa was already off into the trees and there came the sounds of crunching bones Clarke shoved her clothes into a haphazard pile and ran after her.

She rolled her shoulders and it started down her spine. Once it had been excruciating but years of experience only meant she grunted a few times until the fur spread and grew along her skin, first in tuffs down her neck and spine and arms, until she dropped onto knees and it rushed through her, hair shrinking in and her legs pushing out.

She shook her fur when it was over, howled victorious up into the sleeping sky before she was sprinting and the dirt was kicking up beneath her paws.

-

They collapsed onto the grass naked and aching and Lexa crawling on top of her. She had no idea how long they’d spent running together, but the moon was still content in the sky so she figured it didn’t really matter much. Lexa’s lips met hers with a satisfied sigh through her nose like she’d come home, and Clarke’s hand immediately came up to settle behind her neck, to pull her in deeper until they pressed into one another skin-to-skin.

Reality narrowed to only the overwhelming and yet not-enough feeling of Lexa against her, _on_ her, her tongue in her mouth and somehow managing to burn Clarke’s skin with cold fingertips alone. It was a sensation she wanted to drown in.

Lexa moved from her lips to her jaw, trailing until she settled on her neck and Clarke couldn’t stop the moan even if she tried, tilting her head and panting at the feeling that was so legitimately heavenly she wondered if maybe she _did_ die before, because that seemed the only way to explain the fact she was melting under her hands. She really was terrible at this oxygen thing.

“Wait,” Clarke breathed, and Lexa pulled away quickly, but the sight of her mussed lips and pupils almost eclipsing her iris entirely was incredibly distracting and she had to wrangle down the urge to damn it all.

“What’s wrong?” Lexa asked, still breathing a little too hard, and Clarke couldn’t be blamed when she failed to resist the urge and leant up to kiss her.

“We’re not fucking in the woods.” She mumbled against her lips and Lexa barked a surprised laugh.

She pulled back with a slow creeping smile but Clarke was already smirking. “We’re not, are we?” Lexa teased, raising a brow even as her smile spread further. “What _are_ we doing then?”

“My apartment is close.”

Lexa paused. “How close?”

Clarke’s smirk turned sly. “Depends how fast you can run.”

Lexa grinned wide and Clarke thought there wasn’t nothing that could ever rank close to a sight like that.

-

How they made to her apartment she’ll never know.

It was all a blur and only signifier of time was the moments she’d feel Lexa’s hands and lips on her skin. They stumbled into the elevator, and she swallowed Lexa’s grunt when she pushed her into the elevator wall and slipped her hands under her shirt. She had to pull away briefly to try and hit the button for her floor, but Lexa took advantage and dragged her teeth over the exposed skin of neck and Clarke very nearly fell over.

“You’re such a fucking devil,” Clarke panted and when Lexa came back up to meet her lips she was smiling into it. Woman knew _exactly_ what she was doing.

Clarke was only halfway through wondering the ethics of fucking in an elevator when the lift jolted with a stop and the doors grunted open. It was only with supernatural hearing alone that she caught the grind of gears before they slid open, and she was able to jump away from Lexa in time. She moved so fast her back hit the wall hard enough it hurt and Lexa blinked, looking so adorably lost for a moment.

Clarke tried to fix her shirt and her hair so it wasn’t so very obviously we-were-absolutely-about-to-fuck-in-an-elevator-esque but she wasn’t quite sure she succeeded, and her eyes widened to an embarrassing degree when she realised just who was on the other side of the elevator.

The white-haired elderly woman took a moment to glance up, having been distracted with stiffly using her walker to bring her forward. When she did though, her eyes hidden behind spectacles lit up at the sight of her.

“Clarke dear!” she greeted, and Clarke saw Lexa glance between the two of them in her periphery.

Clarke forced a smile and hoped it wasn’t too obviously strained. It must be like a sin to be painfully turned on in the presence of elderly, right?

Eh, she was probably going to hell anyway.

“Mrs Wilson, it’s lovely to see you,” Clarke replied, laughing just a bit—exceedingly—awkwardly, and really she had never been so grateful that Mrs Wilson’s eyesight was notoriously god awful, no matter how many different glasses prescriptions she went through, assuring her every time that _this_ would be the one.

Mrs Wilson let out a delighted little noise and shuffled so she was in the elevator fully. She frowned at the console of buttons, and after a moment Clarke reached out and pressed her floor for her. She was on the floor below her. The day after Clarke had moved in, Mrs Wilson had been the one to hobble up to her door and welcomed her with a plate of freshly baked brownies. “I’m sure you’ll fit in lovely here, dear,” she’d smiled, that old grandmother type of smile that made you feel like they knew everything and you could barely tell your left from your right.

Problem was, Clarke was well aware that she had a bleeding heart that couldn’t fit in her hand, and so of course the one kind-hearted welcoming had been enough to mean that she’d always smile in passing and offered to help her if she had the time. Especially since the woman had fractured her hip years ago but regularly seemed to forgot so.

And while on any other day she would have bothered to make conversation with her, that was an incredibly frustrating feat when she could still vividly feel the ghost of Lexa’s touch on her skin.

Great.

“Have you had a good night, dear?” Mrs Wilson asked, glancing over her shoulder at her.

Clarke didn’t so much as _see_ but _sensed_ Lexa smirk. She wanted to glare at her but Mrs Wilson was still looking at her and this was worse enough without involving Lexa into the conversation. Better they act like they definitely weren’t down each other’s throats less than five minutes previously.

“Yeah.” Clarke cleared her throat and tried to act normal. Whatever the fuck that meant. “It’s been great.”

Mrs Wilson hummed and focused back in front. Clarke immediately glared daggers at Lexa, but Lexa’s smirk had widened and she looked absolutely delighted. _Great, huh_ ? she mouthed and Clarke was _this_ close from slugging her in the arm. And werewolves weren’t no weak things either.

It was an honest miracle when they finally got to Mrs Wilson’s floor and the elevator startled to a stop. There was a soft _ding_ and the doors slid open in jerks before easing. “Well, it was wonderful seeing you again dear,” Mrs Wilson said kindly, and Clarke felt just a little bit of shame tug at her chest.

“Be careful tonight, Mrs Wilson,” she called out as the woman shuffled forward. Mrs Wilson only glanced back at her looking confused once she was over the threshold. “It’s Halloween.” Clarke explained. “Monsters coming out of the dark, and all that.”

Mrs Wilson chuckled and shook her head. “Such a worrier you are, it’s a miracle your hair isn’t as white as mine.”  

Clarke’s cheeks reddened just a bit and she _really_ didn’t appreciate the fact that Lexa still looked like she’d struck gold. The elevator dinged again, and just as the doors began to close Mrs Wilson shot her a wink and pointedly glanced at Lexa.

Wait, she didn’t…?

“Your friend sounded very nice.”

Clarke’s gaze snapped to hers and she really had no idea how Lexa kept a straight face while saying that. “Asshole,” she growled at her, but there was no heat and when she moved to swat her arm Lexa caught her wrist instead and pulled her forward.

Whatever following insults Clarke was intending ended being swallowed by Lexa’s mouth. Her eyes fell shut immediately and she sunk into the kiss without really thinking, slipping a hand to tangle in the mess of braids and her other to settle at her hip. It was a blissful couple of seconds and when the doors opened this time it took a moment too long to break and pull away.

She blinked through the haze and by some miracle managed to speak. “Come on,” she breathed, pressing one last time to her lips before moving out the elevator. She held Lexa by her wrist and dragged her with her, not that Lexa resisted none, a happy tugboat and fervently following after to her. Clarke fumbled for her keys when they got to her door, and it _really_ didn’t help at all when Lexa pressed herself entirely against her back and her heat soaked into her.

Her hands were at Clarke’s hips and her mouth was at her neck and _Jesus_ how the hell was she expected to function in face of that? Her eyes fluttered shut and her breath was stuttering, but it only seemed to motivate Lexa more, her hand drifting to under her shirt and her nails dragging over her stomach.

Clarke, though she had absolutely no idea how, managed to _finally_ get her key into the lock and jerked it open. She fell forward as she shoved the door open and instantly missed the warmth of Lexa’s hands on her. She turned around and snatched the neck of Lexa’s shirt, roughly pulling her towards until she was crashing into lips and they were stumbling back into the apartment. Clarke blindly threw her keys for the bowl and was pretty sure she missed it entirely, but Lexa was already hurriedly throwing her jacket off and Clarke was doing the same and she figured she could just pick them up later in the morning.

They only pulled away so Clarke could grab Lexa’s shirt and haul it off her. Her own followed soon after and suddenly Lexa was pressing her into the wall, her tongue hot in her mouth and burning its way somehow into her chest. Her fingers painted a trail of fire as they drifted down, but when they stopped just over the start of her jeans Clarke wanted to scream. She was so on edge she was sure that barely a graze would send her over.

Lexa broke their kiss, leaning her forehead against hers and panting. “Can I touch you?” she breathed and Clarke nodded too fast and eagerly to even pretend she wasn’t desperate, but then Lexa was unzipping her pants and slipping inside of her and Clarke thought it a worthy sacrifice of dignity. At least they’d _almost_ made the bed.

The kiss was messy and Clarke’s moan was even filthier, but it was all such a blissful type of overwhelming that her eyes near rolled into the back of head and really, the world could end, fall apart at her feet and the only thing she’d care about was the taste of Lexa’s lips and the feel of the heat building in her stomach.

When she finally broke she swore that _this_ was the moment she actually died.

She seemed to be doing that a lot tonight.

Her legs were shaking and everything was hazy and slow but Clarke still managed to work her tongue, reaching behind and unclipping Lexa’s bra. “Bedroom,” she panted into her, and Lexa nodded as eagerly as she had before. Clarke only stumbled a little as she grabbed her hand and led her through the living room and pretty much kicked her bedroom door open. Nothing seemed to break so it seemed no harm done.

When they were bare again with Clarke’s tongue inside her, her legs spread wide and fingers clutched tightly in her hair, she watched as Lexa’s back arched and her eyes squeezed desperately shut, and suddenly she understood why there were thousands of songs and words and paintings of that exact peak of complete bliss and trust.

Clarke had never been religious, but the way she kissed a path back up Lexa’s stomach and to her chest and to her lips, was akin to worship and nothing else.

-

The sun was lazy and pooled onto her bed sluggishly.

Clarke blinked in the morning light, lying on her side and only very slowly sighing and rolling onto her back. She hid her eyes with her arm, feeling bitter at her past self for forgetting to close the blinds. Of course, she’d been distracted with more important things, but still. Damn sun. She could have still been asleep right now. Her body was heavy and languid and she actually nearly did, her breathing starting to slow again and reality edging away from her like tides leaving her be until she heard movement beside her.

She moved her arm and glanced at the source, unable to resist the smile when she saw Lexa sleeping on her front with a pillow held securely in her arms. She snored, but only just a little, a gentle quiet thing that made Clarke’s heart feel a few sizes too big for her chest. Her back was on display, but more importantly was the tattoo that trailed along her spine.

She hadn’t had much time to admire the ink. But in the lethargic pace of the early morning where the world still felt like it had yet to wake up, Clarke took advantage of the newly offered opportunity and shuffled a little closer. She rolled onto her side and reached out her hand. Her fingertips drifted over the warm skin, tracing the lines and circles of the tattoo, and Clarke could have sworn that something in her soul eased and relaxed in an aching familiarity.

Lexa, as Clarke was beginning to learn, was not a morning person. She mumbled something unintelligible as Clarke’s finger continued drawing on her skin. She really had no idea what she said, but when Lexa sighed and her shoulders relaxed until they were almost boneless she thought that it certainly wasn’t anything displeased.

Clarke watched her for a moment. Her hair, once in meticulous braids was a loose and tangled mess spread over her neck and leaking onto the sheets. Her eyes were still closed, even if Clarke was almost a hundred percent certain she was awake, and her lips tugged into a smile when Lexa hummed content in the back of her throat as Clarke kept tracing over her skin.

She was the most beautiful person she had ever seen.

Especially in light like this, with the sun bleeding onto them like they were holy. Even in the subtle lighting of the bar and in the bare necessity of the moon when they’d been out in the night, she had known that Lexa was someone she wanted to be able to draw with her eyes closed. She didn’t think she would be able to give it true justice, that nothing could, but it would be enough. Sometimes that was all that mattered.

But the morning reminded her that this was destined to end, and the idea of never seeing Lexa again was something that made her gut feel so heavy like it’d sink in through the floor.

“Hey,” Clarke said, softly, her voice still husky and thick with sleep.

Lexa murmured something indecipherable again.

“Will you go on a date with me?”

Lexa’s brow creased from where her face was smothered into her pillow. She actually looked up then, still looking dishevelled with sleep and it was with herculean effort that Clarke resisted the urge to kiss her. “What’d you say?” she mumbled, and it was such an endearing sight Clarke almost caved.

“Would you go on a date with me,” Clarke repeated, pretending that she wasn’t at all nervous.

Lexa laughed and it was so much lower and rougher than last night’s Clarke had to swallow. “I think we skipped a step,” she chuckled, and it was infectious enough she laughed a little too.

Clarke shrugged with a smile. “Everything’s relative.”

Lexa just hummed and let her cheek fall into her pillow, watching Clarke with lazy eyes. Clarke watched her too and it was a quiet moment. She couldn’t resist it for long, and soon Clarke was pushing herself up and shuffling closer to her. She shifted until she was on top of her, her hand bracing near the side of Lexa’s shoulder to keep her up, and leaning down until she was pressing a kiss to the back of Lexa’s neck.

She followed the ink down her spine with her lips. Any of the straggling tension bled out of Lexa so easily as she did. She hummed low in her throat again and Clarke grinned into skin.

“Stop coercing me.” Lexa murmured and Clarke’s grin only spread further.

“I’m not coercing. This is a coerce-free zone.”

Lexa laughed and Clarke could hear her smile. “You absolutely are. You’re a terrible liar— _Clarke_.”

Clarke was only halfway through her definitely-not-coercing of trailing her hands down her sides and to lower when Lexa, in a surprisingly impressive display, managed to flip her over so it was now _Lexa_ hovering over her, holding Clarke’s wrists above her head.

“And you call _me_ a devil,” Lexa breathed, trying and failing to look cross with her. It was all very attractive.

“You still haven’t answered.”

Lexa paused a moment, her eyes flicking between Clarke’s lips and up before she released her wrists and leant down to press their mouths together. Clarke softened, and Lexa pulled away, only just enough that Clarke could still feel her breath tickling her lips. “Incorrigible.” Lexa whispered. Clarke leant up and kissed her again.

It was a long, languid beat, but eventually Lexa spoke and it felt like they were the only two awake in the entire planet. “Yes.”

Clarke’s smile reached all the way up to her eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Lexa fell back onto side after a while. They let the sun bleed a little longer, kissing lazy and aimlessly, drifting off under the thrall of the morning and hovering in between sleep. It was only broken when Lexa’s stomach gave a loud growl and Clarke’s eyes blinked open. Lexa looked only a little sheepish.

“Hungry?” Clarke asked with a knowing smile, and Lexa swatted her stomach.

“I might be.”

Clarke hummed. “Alright, come on then. Let’s get some food before you wake the whole neighbourhood up with your growling.”

Lexa rolled her eyes, even as they remained facing each other. “Such a comedian.”

“One tries.”

That finally seemed to prove the final straw because Lexa actually managed to roll over and slip her feet onto the floor then. Clarke lingered, watching Lexa as she stretched her back and the muscles flexed and eased. Lexa cracked her neck, and when she glanced behind her and saw Clarke staring at her, she seemed unable to stop the soft smile that crept on her lips.

Clarke’s heart was a gentle beat in her chest.

 

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed and wish you all a happy halloween lads be gay do crime


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